


Somnambulism

by Rotpeach



Series: The Great Tumblr Rehoming of 2018 [37]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Cannibalism, Feral Behavior, Other, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-07 10:06:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17363978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rotpeach/pseuds/Rotpeach
Summary: You wake up cold. You're tearing them apart.





	Somnambulism

You wake cold and naked on a bed of melting snow and torn flesh.

“Please,” the flesh says hoarsely, and somewhere in the back of your foggy mind you think you recognize its voice. Maybe you’ve seen that birthmark, looked into those eyes, even held those hands more than once. Maybe your head has been pressed against this chest so many nights before this one and this slow heartbeat has lulled you to sleep. Maybe. But you don’t quite remember.

“Please,” tumbles from cracked lips with dried blood caked to them. You slowly lift yourself from the body beneath you, gazing down at ribs poking through shredded skin, an unraveling intestine snaking out of an open belly, thick like sausage links. One leg ends at the mangled bits of a knee, the other hollowed out at the thigh and stripped to the bone. There is blood beneath your nails and thin shreds of something slimy between your teeth. You touch your fingers to your mouth, confused.

It tries to speak again but the words are all gurgled. It chokes, coughing and sputtering, and blood spatters dark and thick over its face.

You don’t think this is real.

You swallow and something savory slides down your throat. Your mouth is full of blood and it runs down your chin and spills over the front of your body. You feel it drip between your thighs—where you are touching the flesh, meeting it, pressed to it as close as you can possibly be and it shudders and quivers against you—and heat rushes through you. 

You’re starting to remember. You think you are, anyway, you think this is starting to make sense. You know the flesh beneath you. You know that tear-stained face, those fluttering eyelids that fight to stay open to look at you with hurt and confusion, demanding answers. You know these shoulders—knew them before chunks of meat were taken out of them. You know every inch of this shredded skin. You know them.

“Please stop,” they whisper, the words a swirling white cloud in the cold air, vanishing when the wind blows them away. “Just let me die.”

You stomach twists and growls, achingly empty and you _understand_.

“Please,” they sob, and you gently hush them, you tell them it’ll be okay. You run your hands down their body, your fingers catching on scrapes and cuts that you must’ve put there, slits in the skin that you cut open when you tried to hold them still, when they struggled and cried and twisted under you. You slip your fingers back into them, feel their blood and heat keeping you warm. They shiver. You find deeper ones at their hips and your hands fit there perfectly. They squirm when you touch them there, they struggle weakly and bleed onto the snow. 

You rock your hips and smile when their lips part in a silent gasp, neither pained nor pleasured by the contact, just startled. You drape yourself over their body and grind into them, watching fresh tears spill over their cheeks. You lick them away and savor the taste, trailing your tongue up to one of their eyes and prod at it in the socket, listening to them whine. Your teeth brush against it and it squishes softly, bending just out of reach. You pull back and see globs of your saliva sparkling like melted snowflakes on their eyelashes, sinking into their tears and running down their face.

You kiss their jaw. You run your mouth over the side of their neck, suckling at their flesh. You grind their skin between your teeth and taste fresh, warm blood, and you moan at the taste. They make a strangled sound beneath you and you feel the vibration beneath your tongue. 

You press a hand to the forehead and bend their head back, exposing their throat. You bite, teasingly soft at first, a gentle nibbling to accompany the quickening of your lower half, moving faster, pressing harder, sweat rising along your back at the exertion. You clamp down suddenly, feel flesh and muscle tearing beneath your teeth, slick, heated meat on your tongue.

They try to scream but you throw your head back and tear out their throat, thin, sinewy strands of flesh and cartilage dangling past your chin. Blood and saliva drips down your face and onto theirs. You see their eyes roll back in their head. You hear a rush of air as they try to breathe but their lungs fill with blood and they make a low, gurgling sound instead. You see the muscles in their neck twitching.

A stag cries somewhere far away. Distantly, you hear heavy, crunching footfalls through the snow, wolves howling and snarling. 

You think you’re asleep. You think this can’t be anything but a dream. The person beneath you stares up at the dark sky with glassy eyes, their fingers twitching at their sides, and the red shadow they cast on the snow slowly grows larger.

 _“It’s just a dream,”_ you think.

You’re too hungry to stop and you know it wouldn’t matter if you did. It’s too late now.

You tell them it’ll be okay, but you’re crying, too.


End file.
